


Learning to Fall

by darkrose



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman Begins (2005)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when you fall, you need a little help picking yourself up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Telesilla for the quick beta and to Adam for the Chinese translation.
> 
> Written for kira

 

Bruce is falling up. The rain and rolling on the ground doused the flames; he's still struggling to make his body obey his commands. The gas that was blown in his face smelled tantalizing and familiar, but now his mind is wandering the fields of his nightmares, and the only thing he can remember is the name of the one person who has never deserted him, always been there for him....

...almost always.

He pulls out his cell phone. His voice is a harsh croak, but he just has to get out that one word:

"Alfred...."

****

It was three days before Bruce realized he was hungry. He'd assumed that it was the water in...wherever-the-hell-it was, or maybe something he'd eaten. It wasn't until it hit him that even though he wasn't throwing up any more, the twisted ache in his abdomen wasn't going away that he figured it out. It wasn't like he'd had ever experienced hunger before--or at least, not that kind of hunger. He'd spent the last of his money the day before, which meant his options were to beg, or steal.

It was incredibly easy. Bruce walked past the fruit vendor and reached out; with a simple motion of his fingers, he had a peach in his hand. Without changing his pace, he walked around to the side of a nearby building and prepared to enjoy his ill-gotten gains.

Bruce sensed that he was being watched. There was a small boy who could have been anywhere between seven and twelve staring not at Bruce, but at the stolen fruit. Bruce took a bite, chewed and swallowed, and held the remainder out. After a moment's hesitation the boy took it, staring at it as if he were afraid it would vanish before wolfing it down.

Bruce was still hungry, but he definitely felt better.

****

It was either divine providence or just bloody good luck that Alfred was able to find Bruce--and more importantly, that none of the denizens of the Narrows had taken advantage of a helpless man. It took a bit of doing to drag Bruce into the car, but he finally managed to get him stretched out across the back seat and then home. Alfred couldn't help smiling a little as he tucked him into bed; it seemed like only yesterday that he'd done that for a much younger Bruce.

A day later he wasn't smiling anymore. Bruce had thrown the covers off with his tossing and turning and was mumbling in a fitful sleep. Most of what he was saying was incomprehensible, but Alfred was able to make out enough to know that as he so often did, Bruce was reliving his parents' murders. He leaned in close to brush the hair back from Bruce's sweaty forehead and heard him whisper, "Ducard..." before rolling over and starting to shiver uncontrollably.

"All right," Alfred said aloud. "Enough is enough." He went downstairs to his office and dug through his Rolodex to find a number he hadn't dialed in almost twenty years.

****

After the cell door closed behind Ducard, Bruce flopped back onto his cot and stared up at the ceiling. He'd expected some kind of offer, perhaps from one of the bigger international gangs, or maybe even the Yakuza, but this was a surprise. He wondered why in all of his travels he'd never heard of Ducard, Ra's al Ghul or the League of Shadows.

Whoever Ducard was, he was good--Bruce had to give him that. He'd revealed just enough information to entice without giving everything away; Bruce was intrigued despite himself.

Rolling over onto his stomach, he thought about the way Ducard had seemed perfectly at home in the tiny cell, as though he hadn't been wearing a suit that Thomas Wayne might have approved of, and the way his blue eyes seemed to strip away all of the masks that Bruce wore and had ever worn, to see him as he truly was. He didn't doubt for a moment that despite the gray in his hair and beard, taking him down would have been a little more of a challenge than dealing with the group of prisoners--and challenges intrigued him.

****

"I don't know what you expect me to do," Lucius groused as he and Alfred went up to Bruce's bedroom. "You think I suddenly turned into a doctor?"

Alfred sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was exactly why he'd hesitated before calling--not anything Lucius was saying, but everything he wasn't. "He'd been drugged, or poisoned, by something I can't identify. You're the chemist; I assumed that you'd be able to narrow it down, at least. But if it's too much for you..."

Lucius glanced at Alfred and snorted. "You haven't changed at all."

Alfred didn't answer; neither of them needed him to.

****

By the time he was halfway up the mountain, Bruce had stopped noticing the cold; it was now simply his default condition. He couldn't remember being able to feel his fingers and toes, or taking a breath of air that wasn't thin and dry and made him cough if he breathed too deeply. He wasn't even sure he could remember why he was climbing, or why he'd ignored the old man in the village (who may or may not have been the old man in the prison who inexplicably befriended the _yuchun de bairen_ *) that told him to turn back. When he reached the top at last, it took the last bit of strength he had left to lift his arm and bang on the door of the monastery.

Later, he crawled into the tiny room--more of a cell, really--that he was led to by one of the silent warriors, and collapsed onto a straw pallet on the floor. He hurt all over; every muscle ached and he felt sure Ducard had cracked a rib when he kicked him. Somehow, none of that mattered when he thought about the surprise and hint of approval he'd glimpsed in Ducard's eyes after he'd taken Bruce down.

****

Lucius was quiet when he came back; the look in his eyes was more than enough to confirm Alfred's worst fears and dredge up some fresh ones. He didn't say anything until they get to Bruce's room, where he sits down and pulls out an injector.

"May I?" Lucius asked, gesturing toward the fitfully sleeping Bruce. Alfred nodded, watching carefully as Lucius pressed the injector against Bruce's neck.

"It's a hallucinogen of some sort," he explained. "Chemically, it's similar to LSD, only several times more potent." Lucius hesitated for a moment, then added, "It's a good thing you called me when you did. Any longer, and he'd be--"

"Dead?" Alfred said flatly.

"Maybe. More likely permanently insane."

"He's going to get killed doing this," Alfred said softly.

"Doing what?" Lucius waved a hand. "No, I take that back--I already know more than I really want to." He looked up, meeting Alfred's eyes. "You should be proud, you know."

Alfred smiled slightly. "Thomas laid the foundation--I just did my best to make sure nothing fell into disrepair." He inclined his head toward Lucius. "But thank you."

****

Bruce hears voices, but he doesn't open his eyes at first. When he does, Alfred is there, which is no surprise, and so is Fox--which is a bit unexpected, but Bruce is grateful.

His father taught him why we fall. It's Alfred--and now Fox--who have reminded him that there is no shame in having someone to help you with the picking yourself up part.

****

* _yuchun de bairen_ (Mandarin) = clueless white guy

 


End file.
